The Chaplain thinks the inmates seem strangely awake and alert, not a tired bone in their bodies. He walks beside the Prisoner. Corrections Officer 1 and Corrections Officer 2, their numbers blazing on their shirts, walk behind them. CO1 has removed the Prisoner’s handcuffs, a small act of mercy, but he keeps his hand on his gun. The Prisoner walks at a leisurely pace, as if he’s got all the time in the world. The Chaplain keeps pace with him, but the COs shuffle awkwardly, not used to moving so slowly.
No one on death row is allowed a name. Not the Warden, the Chaplain, the Prisoner or the corrections officers.
Take away your name, the Chaplain thinks, and you are nothing. You are no one.
The Prisoner is wearing regular clothes – work pants, a plain black T-shirt, canvas shoes. He is a
